 This tale is titled. There are loved ones in the glory whose dear forms you often miss. I was born with broken legs, with barely functional arms, with just one lung. My body was just a mass of dull, aching, pain. I was five years old when the doctor said in hushed, saddened tones that I would not live to see my 30th birthday. My father believed the charlatan. The first of the surgeries happened then. My parents became poorer and poorer as these con men claimed that I could not be repaired. It was not long before my mother had her filth pain and passed on. My father broke after that. He became convinced that there was a plan for me. The Meccano priests of the church agreed. He asked for their forgiveness and they granted it. He gave over part of himself to their machinations to become steel and bone. They called our deity broken. They said God was like me. And then they granted me sight, granted me the ability to walk. By the end I was as much machine as boy. My father thought I was finally saved. But they were, all of them, deceived. For God cannot be broken. My father fell away from the faith after a time. He had transacted with them and gained a working son. We returned to a somewhat normal life, hiding our modifications underneath false flesh. I grew and the metal grew within me. The Meccano priests may have been ignorant of their God's true nature, but they were masters of their craft. I excelled. I was stronger than my peers. Faster, sharper. But I knew a deep, abiding truth. I was incomplete. And so as I became an adult, I returned to the church. For a time I felt a belonging. I said my vows and became a Meccano priest. I refined my skills. I took flesh and turned it into something beautiful. My patience screamed before and blessed me after. With each person I repaired, I brought myself ever closer to God. But the other priests, jealous of what I was becoming, called me heretic. They said that only those who chose this life should be modified. But how will we complete the great work if we wait? I left. I built this chantry. It was I who found our God's discarded heart, who placed it here, in a place of worship. I drained the heart into the baptism chamber. Now we bathe in the oils. When I slipped into it, I could feel it working into the gaps of who I was. I felt my skin hardening, my bones breaking and reforming. It finally repaired me. It repaired all of us. We no longer hold fast to immortal life. The great machine continues a pace, but it is not complete. I will turn every piece of flesh on this earth to steal and code. I will drag you all here, screaming or not, to complete our God. God. Coming here was correct and good. I will not stop my great work as you've asked, but I will show you God. And we will unbreak you. I swear it. Thank you for listening. Site 42 studios and its staff are funded by viewers like you. Please become a patron or visit our merch store at the link in our bio to support our work. Secure. Contain. Protect.